Difference between revisions of "Logs:Get the Fuck Out Of My Weyr"

It's still dark when Tiriana stirs, in the small hours. Iovniath has retreated to the ledge with Cadejoth, a rather forlorn little huddle next to him, no longer glowing. Somehow, the two riders have made it just to the bed, clothes thrown all over the place in a trail stretching the short distance from living room to bedroom. The covers are a tangle, limbs all mixed up until Tiriana, returning to herself, has to detach herself very carefully from K'del. And then, unceremoniously, she's shoving at him, an attempt to roll him right off the bed, whether he's awake or not.

K'del was not awake, thank you very much. He was sleeping peacefully, utterly innocent in his stretched out, post-coital contented rest. That changes pretty fast though, since, in his fast asleep state, he's not very hard to push straight onto the floor, which he hits with a loud bump. Then: "Waah?" And then, as he scrambles on the floor, eyes blinking madly to get used to the dark: "Shit."

'Shit' is about right. Tiriana has her own curses as she gets more awake, enough so to put that voice to a name. And then her dark head's leaning over the edge of the bed, sheet pulled up and held to her chest. And she says, "Get the /fuck/ out of my Weyr." Note the capital.

Pity about the sheet. Even here, on the floor, looking up, K'del's gaze seemed set to linger on her chest. But it snaps up, now, and he frowns. "No." Bold words, given his current position on the floor, naked, and quite possibly slightly hungover.

"Get out," Tiriana repeats. But she's drawing away from the edge, and if he wants a view, well. He'll get one now, as she throws back all those wadded-up covers and rises, to fetch her underwear and put it back on first. She bends to grab her shirt, too, deliberately nonchalant about turning it right-side-out, at least. He's not going to make her feel ashamed in her own weyr! The glare she aims at K'del, though? Not half-hearted at all. "Get out or we will throw you out, you little--" Insert assorted curses; very creative.

K'del's glance is very appreciative. He touched all that! But. He stands, though makes no move to find his own clothes, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his lips pulled in tight. "/Weyrleader/," he corrects her, as though he's not about to throw up, or cry, or something (he's pretending pretty hard; he must be!). "Whether you like it or not." Or him.

That shirt's pulled over her head, and then, mostly decent, Tiriana can stalk toward the still naked K'del. This is probably not the wisest position for him to be in, after she's already been hitting on him tonight. "Weyrleader," she snarls. "Let me tell you just how this is going to be, Weylreader. You're going to shut the hell up and do exactly what I tell, okay? Because I'm the fucking Weyrwoman, damn it!" Her bare-foot-stamp proves it!

"Because you're not /completely/ doing what Milani tells you to do anyway." He doesn't stamp, but he /does/ raise his voice, and straightens his shoulders so that he's even taller, and better able to stare down at her snarkily. For the moment, he seems oblivious to the hitting danger he's in: there's yelling to be done! "Fuck you, Tiriana. Whether you like it or not, we're equals in this." This mess.

"No," corrects Tiriana. "We're not, /Weyrleader/." The title's thrown back at him--and so's a knee, aiming to hit him right where it hurts while he's puffing himself up. Take note: this will be the only time Tiriana ever tries to touch that thing voluntarily.

K'del goes down with a whimper, just like that, ending up hunched over, protecting his assets with an expression that is beyond pained. "You /bitch/," he says, once he can speak again. "And you're wrong. Whatever you say: you're wrong. I didn't ask for this - we weren't supposed to /be/ here - but damn it, I will do my best. And you'd better work with me." Because making threats, when you're in this position? So helpful.

Tiriana's mouth curves upward, not a pleasant smile. She even leans down to his level, to make sure he sees it. "Or else what?" she asks, head tilting. "/You/ are going to be the one working with /me/. You're expendable, Weyrleader. A couple of turns and we'll have a new one. But me, Iovniath--we're here for good. So you're going to do what we say. And what F'rint says, because you can damn well be sure that he's going to be running things still."

K'del is not a man prone to violence. Not usually. But with Tiriana's face as close to his, and what she has to say ringing in his ears, he does the first thing that comes to mind: he grabs for her shoulders, and shoves as hard as he can. "Fuck that, Tiriana. I'll make my own decisions." /Now/ he'll turn around to go hunt for his clothes. Well, his pants: his underwear can stay right here, just as a token to remember tonight with.

Tiriana reels backward, catching herself on the bed as she sits down abruptly. She stays there, makes it look like that's what she meant to do all along. Yeah. "Fuck you." Such expansive vocabularies; the harpers would be proud. "Get the fuck out of my weyr." Aaaand we've come full circle already. It's probably a good thing she doesn't notice his underwear still laying around on her floor, else he might wind up strangled to death with it.

"Already did," is what K'del says in return, doing up his pants and grabbing for his shirt and his shoes. His socks can stay with the underwear; let it not be said that he doesn't share the love. "On my way. Got prettier women to fuck now, thanks, though you were diverting, I suppose. See you in the morning, Weyrwoman-mine." He's grinning at her, dimples showing. Ignore the sweat on his brow, the fact that the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. And then he turns to leave.

Tiriana is all out of pretty things to throw at people. But she does come up with a half-empty bottle on one of the nightstands, after she does a quick cast about the bedroom. And then she's flinging that after him while he's fleeing; hope he moves faster this time than the last. At least her aim's not that great, in the dark and out of sorts as she is.

It crashes on the floor just behind his feet, splashing them, but not, ultimately, doing K'del any damage. He scoots around the corner, and is gone. Hopefully, the vomit he pauses to expel, just out of sight, will be cleaned up before she comes out again, or maybe attributed to someone else. Hopefully. Wouldn't do for anyone to know that their new Weyrleader can't hold is liquor. Or is it just pure horror at the whole, awful situation? Who knows.